My soul ponders words of an ancient poet,
"To everything, there is a season..."
This is a day for words to make space for pictures to speak truth.
God whispers of beauty,
here, in nature's art.
A doorway in the night,
a crack of light
yawns into darkness.
This vibrancy in death,
it speaks in balmy breeze across my cheeks,
in colorful illumination,
visible only with the light on.
Everything can grow.
In birthing and dying,
in changing of seasons,
in weeping and laughing,
in mourning and dancing,
in keeping and throwing away,
in breaking and building.
My physical therapist speaks poetry and doesn't know it -
how healing comes to my ruptured achilles,
in one hundred thousand heel lifts.
It comes to broken hearts much the same.
"A time to break,
and a time to build."
The rhythms and seasons of life,
ever ebbing and flowing.
God turns on the light,
creates a cozy haven of rest,
Sit with me awhile,
and I'll tell you a story of redemption.